


the heart that you call home

by analineblue



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-12
Updated: 2010-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto gets sent home sick; Jack is domestic and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart that you call home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt _sick in bed_ , and set at some point shortly after _Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang_. Title taken from _The Engine Driver_ , by the Decemberists.

Tosh's hand on Ianto’s shoulder is warm, comforting.

The fact that she felt the need to walk him to the door of his flat makes him feel a little like he’s in middle school again, coming home with a note for his parents from the headmaster or something, but all the same, he hopes he’s conveyed his appreciation sufficiently, because, well... This was really nice of her. And she didn't have to. 

Everything is a little jumbled in his head right now though, what with the throbbing behind his temples, the ache in his throat and the heavy warmth of his eyelids that have been wanting to close for hours now, ever since he woke up feeling like he'd been run over by a freight train. Or maybe the SUV, like Jack had promised once upon a time... 

He can feel her fingers squeeze a little around his arm as she looks up into his eyes, studying his face, her other hand resting on the door frame.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asks, and her voice is concerned, attentive.

Ianto clears his throat--it feels a bit like he's swallowed a cup-full of broken glass, maybe. Or a really big pinecone. So much for Gwen’s magic herbal remedy. And those painkillers Owen had hooked him up with.

"No, not really," he tells Tosh apologetically.

His head, his chest, his arms, his ribs--everything hurts, in that heavy, achy, not-quite-right way. Everything feels a little out of focus too, blurring round the edges, like his head is stuffed full of cotton. 

He’d tried to stick it out at the hub, thinking that with a little tea, and a quiet morning spent off his feet he might be able to shake off whatever this was, but that hadn't quite worked out.

The longer the morning wore on, the worse he felt. Finally Gwen must’ve said something to Jack—maybe she’d gotten tired of watching him almost fall asleep at his workstation--because just before lunch, he’d been sent home. With strict orders from Owen to show up tomorrow at 100%, or face the consequences.

It feels strange--the middle of the day, everyone else at the hub, and he's standing here in his flat with Tosh.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he's thinking that Jack should be here, that Jack should've been the one to drive him home, but of course, that's ridiculous. Jack has work to do, a hub to run. He can't be expected to dash around driving people home in the middle of the day, even if those people are, well... no matter who they are.

He has to admit he’d expected Jack to say something back at the hub though, a comforting pat on the back at the very least, but Jack hadn’t said a word—he'd hung out in his office, his back to the windows, while Ianto shut down his computer, and the coffee machine, and gathered his things.

If Ianto'd had the energy, he might have stopped by Jack's office on his way out, but he really hadn't had any energy at all, and honestly, he's come to realize that when Jack puts any kind of distance between them, it's usually for a reason. Of course he wonders what that reason is--he always does--but he's also gotten pretty good at being able to tell when Jack is worth pushing, and when he isn't. This had seemed like the latter, so Ianto had chosen to follow Jack's lead.

When Tosh offered to drive him home, Jack had been staring down at them from his office though. He’d nodded his approval, but then he just kept _staring_. The look in his eyes had made Ianto’s stomach twist uncomfortably, because it was the same look he had when he came back from dying sometimes, like he couldn’t believe Ianto was there, like he expected him to be somewhere else, or maybe like he expected him not to be anywhere at all.

For a second, remembering this makes Ianto want to ask Tosh to drive him straight back to the hub--not to have some sort of confrontation with Jack, but just to be there, to be present, just in case Jack needed something, anything.

"I'll be fine by tomorrow,” he tells Tosh instead, as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the armchair by the door.

He's here now, Ianto tells himself--Jack will be okay.

His fingers move to loosen his tie, and it takes more effort than he wants it to. His hands are slow, not quite obeying his instructions.

“Please remind Jack that I'm not dying,” Ianto says, and his voice is heavy in his ears, thick. “And tell him to call me if he needs anything.”

Tosh smiles. "Jack's been really overprotective of you lately. Since..." She hesitates. "Well, you know. Since he's been back. It's sweet," she finishes.

Ianto nods, and is about to say something about how it’s not just him--Jack’s been acting differently towards all of them since he got back from his time spent with the Doctor, but his head really is pounding, and it’s just too much effort to get the words out. His limbs feel like lead, heavy and awkward. He needs to lie down.

"Thanks again for the ride," he says, pushing the words out, his throat aching with the effort. "I’ll keep my mobile on. Call me if you need anything."

"Sure," she says, smiling warmly, and pats him on the shoulder. "Get some rest. I’ll pass your message along to Jack, don’t worry."

**

Ianto doesn't really remember deciding on the couch in favor of the bed, but the next time he opens his eyes, it's dark out, and his nose is pressed awkwardly into the rough fabric of the cushions.

His throat feels prickly and he winces as he tries to swallow.

There’s a knock on the door then, quick, deliberate-- _Jack_ \--and then there’s the sound of keys, and the snap of the top lock coming undone, then the bottom.

Ianto sits up quickly, and the room promptly turns upside down for a second.

When he opens his eyes again, Jack is kneeling in front of him, pressing the back of his hand against Ianto's forehead. He looks as if he's seen a ghost.

"Jack," Ianto says hoarsely. "Hi."

Ianto blinks, head pounding. He shivers a little, and then squints past Jack, taking in the rest of the room.

Jack’s keys are lying in the middle of the floor, and there’s a plastic shopping bag next to his feet, discarded, as if Jack rushed in, rushed over to him. Then he realizes that the door to his flat is still open.

Ianto eyes Jack carefully.

“You forgot to shut the door,” he says finally.

Jack blinks, looks surprised for a second. Then he grins, but it’s a little too big, a little too bright.

“So much for my grand entrance,” he says as he stands up, crossing the room and closing the door, his boots thudding dully against the hardwood floors.

"Sorry," he says, and he's sitting so close to Ianto on the couch that their thighs and shoulders and arms touch. "Tosh says I'm being overprotective.” He shrugs, looks a little sheepish. “So if I am, I'm sorry. Indulge me."

Ianto can’t think of very many things he’s better at than indulging Jack. But still... “Since when do you have to tell me that?”

Jack ignores him, and picks up the bag at his feet. Ianto peers over his shoulder.

"I hope you’re not planning on having me take all that stuff at once.”

He can't see everything in the bag, but from his vantage point—shoulder poking into Jack’s chest as he leans forward--he’s fairly certain that he’s able to identify about three kinds of cold medicine, cough syrup, lozenges, Lemsip, and at the very bottom, a can of something, though he can't quite read the label. 

"I wasn't sure what you had on hand, or what you'd taken already,” Jack explains, shrugging. “Have you taken anything?"

Ianto smiles a little, as Jack pushes him off so that he can properly rummage through his bag again, his palm against Ianto’s chest. 

"No," Ianto says. "Just some pain killers, and Gwen made me some kind of herbal tea that didn’t do a thing, but that was hours ago."

Jack leans over him, all warm body heat and pheromones, fluffing the couch pillows behind Ianto.

He hadn’t realized how much effort it’d taken, paying attention to Jack and his bag of…whatever all that stuff was. He leans back against the cushions with relief, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, Jack is holding a thermometer. The electronic kind with the buttons, and the nifty display. He wrestles it from its over-packaging, and then hands it to Ianto.

Ianto stares at him. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You know, stick it--"

Ianto chuckles, deep and low, because he can't help it--this sounds right up Jack's alley.

"...in your _mouth_ ,” Jack clarifies, his eyes gleaming.

Ianto nods, then holds up the thermometer, giving it a quick wave. "I see it's got its own timer and everything."

Jack grins. "Don't ever accuse me of not buying you things."

Ianto just smiles. The room feels warm, a little like the warm haze that falls over everything just before Jack usually suggests that they head home after a few drinks at the pub. He feels slow--his movements, his thoughts, everything. He studies Jack for a second and then sinks a little further back against the cushions.

He places the thermometer under his tongue, remembering Jack’s instructions. _Indulge me_. He shivers a little.

Ianto watches Jack, the plastic tip of the thermometer poking into his gums--he feels like a little kid. Jack is reading the outside of one of the boxes of cold medicine, and keeps glancing at Ianto every few seconds, impatient.

This is a new side of Jack, something Ianto hasn’t seen before, something tender, and a little tentative. Protective. Not over-protective, like Tosh said—that makes him think of some parents he knew growing up, not a good thing. But this is definitely good. A bit perfect, really. 

When the thermometer beeps, it startles him out of his thoughts. 

He hands it to Jack automatically, and then feels a little silly for not just reading the bloody thing himself.

Jack just takes it from him without a second glance though.

"You have a fever," Jack announces, his expression unreadable.

"Hmm," Ianto says eloquently. He presses his fingers to his cheek. It does feel a little hot.

“How do you feel?”

Ianto considers this, pressing back into the cushions. Jack’s hand is on his knee, squeezing a little.

Well, for starters, he thinks, he feels strange, off-center, like the room is spinning, but not fast enough to make him dizzy, just fast enough so that his eyes can’t quite focus on anything. And then there’s Jack, being so… well, _nice_ , and he wants to remember this, wants burn it into his memory, but his head hurts, and he can’t really think straight. He's achy. Tired.

“I feel... not that great,” he settles on. “Everything’s a bit fuzzy,” he adds, and Jack smiles a little.

"You've felt like this all day?"

Ianto nods. “I fell asleep last night on the couch after our epic weevil-hunting excursion, and when I woke up my head was pounding. I thought I'd be alright if I slept it off, but..." Ianto stops, because Jack is looking at him as if he's just told him he's been diagnosed with some sort of horrible disease.

The fuzziness falls away immediately, and Ianto straightens, sitting up from the cushions.

"Jack, I'm okay," he says. "It's just a cold. I'll take some medicine and by tomorrow morning I'll be fine."

Jack is quiet. He stops looking at Ianto though, just stares down at his feet for a moment.

"You probably know this already, but I don't usually get sick,” Ianto continues, not sure why his voice suddenly sounds so reassuring. “But when I do, it's not bad. I run a fever for a day, and that's it, once it's gone, I'm fine." He squeezes Jack’s arm. "Jack?"

Jack looks at him, and something strange--an emotion that Ianto can't quite place--flashes over his face for a second, and then just like that, it's gone.

Jack smiles, and it’s a real smile, the kind that always makes Ianto's knees a little weak. Jack covers Ianto's hand with his own, and squeezes it a little.

"The hub is quiet without you there," he says finally.

"I find that hard to believe."

"And the coffee's terrible."

Ianto smiles. "The truth comes out." He sighs. "Seriously though, it’s been half a day. Surely you can manage without me for at least that long."

Jack raises his eyebrows. “You overestimate me. Why do you think I’m here?”

Ianto doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He does cough though, a couple of times, and is confronted briefly with the idea that this might all be some sort of surreal dream he’s having, while passed out on his couch.

Because Jack is many things, but… Whatever he’s being right now usually isn’t one of them.

When neither of them says anything after another minute, Ianto leans over Jack, pointing at the shopping bag.

“I think I could actually use some of that stuff in there, if you don’t mind? My head’s killing me.”

Jack nods quickly, and then gets up and heads in the direction of the kitchen. Ianto listens to him opening the cupboards--one, then another--and then the tap turns on. He leans back into the cushions, listening. 

It's nice having Jack here, plain and simple. Jack could be anywhere in the universe, but he’s not, he’s right here, in Ianto’s kitchen, rummaging around through his mugs and cups, and this is just really... nice, Ianto decides.

It feels like home, really, and Ianto hasn't really felt at home in his flat in... well, maybe ever. But somehow having Jack here, especially tonight, makes it feel a little more like that. Like somewhere he really wants to be, somewhere he'd like to stay. It's as if his heart is resetting itself, reprogramming itself to this location, to Jack's place in it. 

Jack comes back a few seconds later. He hands Ianto a large glass of water and a few pills.

Ianto takes them, and then leans back against the pillows again. He's about to pull his feet up onto the couch when he realizes he's still wearing his shoes from this morning.

"I should change," he tells Jack. "Tosh dropped me off and I must've just crashed."

Jack is already on his feet. "Second drawer, right?"

Ianto nods. "Just a t-shirt--"

"And your grey sweatpants, am I right?"

Ianto nods again, smiling a little. "Yep. Thanks,” he adds, because he’s not sure if he’s said that yet.

Jack returns with an armful with clothes--he's grabbed a hoodie too, and the blanket that Ianto usually keeps at the foot of his bed. And Ianto's slippers. The fuzzy ones, with the fur lining.

"Thanks, Jack, really. You don't have to--"

"Yes, I do," Jack says quickly. "I do, okay. So just let me?"

Ianto just nods, unable to find his voice because the look that just crossed Jack's face was so determined, so single-minded. Ianto knows that look, and it always seems to leave him speechless.

Jack gestures for him to lean back against the cushions and so he does. Then he lets Jack take off his shoes, one by one, placing them carefully next to the couch before he moves on to Ianto's socks, peeling them off carefully.

When Jack’s hands move to unzip his pants, Ianto hesitates for a second, almost stops Jack, because it feels strange, to be doing this when it's not, well... foreplay. It’s nothing like that tonight though. Jack's hands are different--he can't put his finger on it, but tonight, the way he's touching Ianto... This is about something else altogether. Jack slides the soft, lined wool of his suit pants over his hips, his thighs, his calves, and then down past his ankles. A moment later, at Jack's prompting, Ianto picks up his hips, as Jack pulls the sweat pants up over his boxers.

Ianto's head feels heavy, his eyelids warm, and so he closes his eyes and leans back against the pillows as Jack removes his cufflinks, slides off his tie, and then undoes the buttons of his dress shirt one by one. Jack's perfect fingers press against his chest, his palms against Ianto's ribs.

Jack carefully folds Ianto's pants and shirt and tie, and then gets up and sets them on the chair next to the door. He straightens Ianto's jacket on the back of the chair, where it had started to slide off, and then comes back to the couch.

His fingers brush lightly against Ianto's stomach, and he feels Jack's strong arm behind his back, coaxing him forward as he pulls the thin cotton undershirt over his head. Jack presses a quick kiss to Ianto's forehead and then pulls a fresh t-shirt over his head. Ianto shakes his head when Jack offers the sweatshirt--he's still warm--and pulls his feet up onto the couch, suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable. The smooth, soft cotton feels nice against his skin.

He misses Jack’s hands though, misses their warmth, their weight. 

"Feeling any better?" Jack asks hopefully.

"A little," Ianto says, and it’s not entirely a lie. Since Jack has arrived, his symptoms may not have improved that much, but his mood certainly has. "Come here," he says, motioning for Jack to lie down next to him.

Jack shakes his head, standing up. "Not tonight. Tonight I tell you what to do, okay?"

Ianto nods, because this seems fair, really. "Okay."

"Have you eaten?"

Ianto shakes his head.

"I brought soup."

Ianto stifles a laugh, and then immediately regrets it. "Sorry," he says quickly. "It's just that I've never seen you cook." He looks up at Jack. "I don't think you've ever mentioned it."

"I'll have you know I was very good at cooking once." He grins at Ianto. "Truth be told, I haven't tried it in decades, but I hear it's a lot like riding a bike." He holds up the can. "Plus, there are instructions and everything."

Ianto raises his eyebrows, and then shrugs. "Go for it," he says, as Jack strides off into the kitchen. "Let me know if you need my help finding anything."

Ianto concentrates on the sounds of Jack rummaging around in his kitchen again. 

It makes his teeth ache a little, honestly. Makes his stomach tingle with something really, really, good. His heart is pounding, and he thinks he must be a little crazy, getting all shaky like this over Jack poking around his kitchen with a can of soup.

He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes, letting himself doze a little, imagining a world in which this is normal, everyday, everything.

He wakes up to Jack's hand on his shoulder. He thinks for a second that he's been dreaming, but no, there's Jack, a dishtowel over his arm, grinning down at him.

"Hungry?" Jack asks, and Ianto's not, but he smiles back at him anyway because he can't help it.

"Starving," he says and sits up. Less dizzy this time, less fuzzy.

"Hold on," Jack says, heading back into the kitchen. "You have one of those tray things for the couch, right?"

"Yes, behind the--"

"Got it!" Jack pokes his head around the kitchen door triumphantly.

Ianto flexes his toes under the blanket that he realizes Jack has draped over him and smiles. He thinks he could get used to this, maybe, just a little.

Jack serves him chicken soup on a fold-away table that Ianto hasn't used since he moved in. There are crackers, and tea, and Jack sits close next to him on the couch and shares his blanket and only presses his hand against Ianto's forehead once.

Ianto realizes he's more hungry than he thought, and finishes everything Jack serves him. When they're done, Jack clears the dishes away, but doesn't wash them yet, just comes back and sits close to Ianto on the couch again.

"Don't you need to get back to the hub?" Ianto asks as Jack starts to get comfortable next to him, leaning back into the cushions, his arm around Ianto’s shoulders. "I don't mean," he starts, not really sure what he means. "I'm not telling you to go, but if you need to," Ianto offers tentatively.

Jack doesn't say anything.

"Jack?"

Jack is quiet for another second, just watching Ianto--it's starting to make him nervous, this serious look in Jack's eyes.

"I missed this," Jack says finally, his voice quiet, resigned.

Ianto blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Taking care of people. Taking care of you."

"Oh." Ianto doesn't know what to say; Jack sounds like he's a million miles from here. 

"I want to do things right with you."

Ianto nods, trying to process this. "Well, I think this is actually the first time I've been sick since I've known you, so..." He smiles, nudges Jack's ankle with his toe. "Jack?"

"Sorry, I've just felt-- Since I came back..." Jack clasps his hands in his lap, stares down, as if he’s steeling himself. "I want to do things better. I want to be a better person. For you."

"Jack," Ianto starts, trying to follow Jack’s train of thought. It always makes him feel a little helpless when Jack is like this. He can’t help but feel out of his depth when he spends any time at all thinking about Jack’s life-- _lives_ \--outside of Torchwood, especially when the Doctor is involved. 

They haven't really talked about Jack's time away with the Doctor either--Ianto figured Jack would come to him when he was ready, but maybe that was a mistake, maybe they needed to, maybe this is what Jack wants, now.

“I don't know what happened to you," Ianto says, because it seems like Jack's waiting for him to say something. "Because you haven't told me," he continues. "And I was afraid to ask." 

Jack’s face falls for a second, and it almost makes Ianto falter, but he keeps going, determined.

“But I know you feel like you have a lot to make up to us," he says carefully. "We’re okay though. I’m okay.” He says, looking at Jack urgently, willing him to understand. “You’ve done so much. For me. For all of us.”

Jack's expression hasn't changed though--he still looks so far away. Ianto's not even sure if he's making any sense--maybe he's not? He's feeling a little better thanks to Jack's medicine, but still not that great. His skin feels weird, cold and clammy, and his voice sounds strange. He swallows; his throat is throbbing, but it doesn't matter. 

“Jack...” he continues, his voice a little rough. “You know how many times you've saved my life, right?"

Ianto waits, and Jack is just watching him, so he forces himself to keep talking. "After... well, before, really. With Lisa," he tries, not sure how to explain this.

"So many times,” he says, thinking of cups of coffee on the pier, and Myfanwy, and take-away in his flat after Lisa... Brecon Beacons, and that perfect shot to the blowfish’s head.

He takes a deep breath, and clears his throat. "So, you know, all this talk about being a better person and all that, it's not necessary. Not for me. You're a really good person already, Jack, and I--"

And then Jack is kissing him--hard, and wet, and desperate, and Ianto leans into it, leans into Jack, feeling Jack's arms wrap around him.

He’s thinking of Jack, saving his life, over and over and over, and of how stupid he used to be, thinking there was no one to take care of him, because of course, Jack’s been taking care of him all along. He should have said this a long time ago, should have made sure that Jack _knew_ , and even though his head is still pounding and even though this is making him dizzy, he doesn't let go, doesn't let himself break the contact until he has to, until he has to pull away from Jack's lips, coughing over his shoulder.

"Sorry," he says, trying to catch his breath.

Jack just shakes his head, and when Ianto's done coughing, he snakes his hand around Ianto's neck, presses his palm to Ianto's skin, and pulls him close.

The room is still a little off-center so Ianto closes his eyes, presses his cheek against Jack's collar, wonders if his head is ever going to stop pounding, wonders if he got through to Jack at all--hoping he did, trying to figure it out from the tips of Jack's fingers against his cheek.

Ianto clears his throat and it turns into a cough. He frowns, moves to sit up straight, and then mostly regrets it, his head throbbing. “I’m going to make you sick," he says, sniffling a little. 

"I don't get sick," Jack says, and pulls him close again.

Ianto allows himself to get lost for a few seconds, Jack’s fingers lightly carding through his hair, his touch so gentle that it sets the hairs on Ianto’s neck on end.

Then Ianto turns in Jack's arms, tries to lean into Jack's lips, but Jack pushes him off gently.

"I'm putting you to bed. Right now."

Ianto blinks at him, and for a moment he feels a little like he did when Jack first came back from the Doctor, when he didn’t want to let him out of his sight, even for a minute. He’d slept on the couch in the hub for a week, learned how to make coffee by feel, his eyes locked onto Jack's office, tuned into whatever Jack was doing behind those windows all the time.

He wants to argue, wants this to last forever--Jack, piddling around his flat, making soup and fetching his clothes, and sharing his blanket on the couch, running his fingers through his hair as if there’s no place he’d rather be--but somehow he doesn't argue, he just lets Jack lead him off to the bedroom. 

He doesn't even remember getting into bed, but suddenly he's there, covers tucked up to his chin, the room dark and quiet. Jack presses a warm kiss against his forehead and it feels...like heaven, really. Like he's been waiting his entire life for this—suddenly his flat, his bed is the most comfortable place in the world.

Jack's on top of the covers, his arm across Ianto's chest, his chest pressed up tight against Ianto's back, and just before everything fades out, he feels Jack’s warm breath against his neck, his ear. 

“Thank you,” Jack says softly, and presses a quick kiss to his neck. “I don’t tell you that enough, but thank you.”

Ianto wants to ask what for, but doesn’t, already knows, maybe, and leans back against Jack's chest and lets himself drift off, feeling the warmth of Jack’s body next to him, feeling Jack's chest press against his body in a slow rhythm, rising and falling.

He drifts off to the sound of Jack’s breathing, smooth and perfect and wonderful and _his_.

It's the best he's felt all day.

**end**


End file.
